You say, “I’m fine,”

and it lands like a closing door.

I nod because I know the script—

we’ve written it with blanks between every line.

Our voices touch without meaning,

our eyes avoid the real weight.

You hold your breath like a secret,

and I pretend not to notice.

⸻

There’s a pattern to this pause,

like a sigh before sleep.

We exchange empty syllables

and call it resolution.

⸻

You used to tell me your mornings,

now I just hear alarms.

We move around each other

like ghosts in routine.

The coffee cools beside your hand,

your gaze fixed on something not there.

I offer nothing

because I don’t want to make it worse.

⸻

There’s a shape to our retreat,

a form we both obey.

We trade safe expressions

to keep the truth away.

⸻

Hollow phrases,

thin as breath.

You speak in wallpaper—

all surface, no depth.

I try to answer,

but my voice forgets.

We’re fluent in silence

and polite regrets.

⸻

“we… we… we forget…”

“we… we… we forget…”

“we… we… we forget…”

⸻

Hollow phrases,

thin as breath.

You speak in wallpaper—

all surface, no depth.

I try to answer,

but my voice forgets.

We’re fluent in silence

and polite regrets.